


Bang

by Gabri



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Gunplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roleplay, dub-con roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabri/pseuds/Gabri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade and Peter set up a role play night in order to introduce Wade's weapons to the bedroom. No blood is spilled in the process, surprisingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang

Wade was a man who was in love with his weapons, probably more than Peter was initially comfortable with. He used to joke that Wade could shed all his clothes but never really act naked unless his firearms were gone. It was only half true - they both knew the mask was a bigger deal, but that in itself was obvious enough to skip over and never truly avoid. 

Besides, Wade's mask was off now. That was one of the things Peter had clearly, explicitly insisted on when they ironed out the details of tonight. "I just need to see your face." he had pressed, soft and assuring, scanning the other man's eyes for a reaction. "Okay? I can read your face better. It's kind of important if we're going to be doing this at all, ever."

Now Peter's half naked, pants still clinging to him by an the thread of an ankle and jacket bunched around his arms. He struggles half-heartedly as Wade holds him in place, looming over him until Peter's open mouth is cloaked in shadow and his wide, wide eyes look clouded.

"Please." he whispers, and it's almost not like him at all. He sounds different - not _completely_ different, but there's no hint of Spiderman in that tone and his usual wit has faded around the edges. Maybe it's all that practice he's gotten lying about his name that's given him such a believable act. Wade considers the possibility of Peter honing his role play talents in secret and debates whether or not he'd be more pissed off or delighted about it.

Peter bares white teeth and narrows his eyes nervously. "Are you _done_?"

"Nah." Wade catches his face in his hands, doesn't miss the way his captive shivers at touch. "We've just started, baby. I haven't even brought in my toys yet." He shifts, brings a hand away, and a second later Peter's pretty face hisses a breath as the flat side of a knife is pressed against his cheek.

The edge touching his skin is dull. Peter's eyes flicker to his naked face, reads something invisible in the depths of his expression, and visibly relaxes a notch or so. All safe. Just a game. Wade isn't going to hurt him.

So he tips his head back and gives him a desperate, wild look, one that makes heat flare up through his veins like a sickness. "You'd let me cut you, wouldn't you." Wade whispers.

Peter shakes his head, presses his lips together tight.

"But I won't touch your face." the knife lifts, touches the soft skin of his naked belly before coming to rest on his inner thigh. "Here. I could carve my name in you. You'd heal around it, get a nice tattoo. Free of charge. You'd look sexy marked up, Parker, you'd look good in red."

"Fuck, Wade," His voice breaks on the last note. "Whatever - whatever you want, just..."

He traces the sharp edge along pale flesh, just short of actually drawing blood. Little thrills of excitement shudder through him in time."You're gonna be a good prisoner." Wade coos, not bothering to hide his arousal at the sight of his prey, submissive and edged in the excitement of violence. "You're gonna do what I say."

"Okay, yes, okay..." his eyes flicker toward the weapon, dancing out of his peripheral vision.

"Open your legs, beautiful."

Peter's arms are tangled up in the jacket, but beneath that is a coil of rope. They worked out the bondage bit with a surprising lack of argument - Peter insisted he could handle a restraint or two, but Wade was strong about where, exactly, they could go. When Peter wanted to hold him down, it was easy, the boy handled his webbing like it was an extension of his body, and Wade honestly didn't give a shit what the long-term danger of being trapped in Peter's grasp was. 

But when their roles were reversed, it was different. Peter trusted him, probably more than he should have, but Wade didn't necessarily agree. So when the bondage came into play, he insisted Peter's legs be kept free. "They're your best weapon," he had insisted, "you could break a guy's neck with your arms tied, easy."

"I'm not going to break your neck," Peter had scoffed at him.

"You could." he shrugged. It's not like it mattered a whole lot, he'd heal.

Now Peter's legs are untouched, as they agreed, but with the way he's squirming and hesitating, Wade could almost believe that he really thinks he's trapped. 

Almost. 

"Fuck, you're so sexy." Wade murmurs. "All mine, too." He nuzzles Peter's neck as he settles between his thighs, tossing the knife aside. Peter gives a breathy exhale when the metal is gone, then bites down on a delicious noise at the texture of Wade, who remains fully clothed from the neck down, against his naked skin.

Wade watches his pale shoulders shift, the pulse in his neck, his chest arched by the restraints on his arms. It's all very tempting, and he bends to suck on a spot below his ear, listening to the change in his breath as he slips his hands around to massage his ass. Peter makes another half moan, half hiss and turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. 

Wade licks at the shell of his ear. "What's wrong, prisoner? You done this before?"

" _No._ " Peter says harshly, blinking at the opposite wall. "No, never." Wade almost laughs because the way he's acting, he actually wants to believe him, but one thought-box in his head is taunting _are you kidding? You guys were fucking like rabbits only yesterday_ and the other childishly shouts _Shut up, DON'T RUIN THIS!_

"Don't worry, I'm a nice guy. I'll take good care of you." Wade coos, busying himself with palming their shared bottle and slicking his fingers up with lube. He's very thorough, very careful, because he knows what's going to happen next and this time, Peter doesn't. The younger man gasps convincingly as he's being prepped. Wade knows he's being tactful, knows it's much more pleasure than pain at this point. But Peter's pretty good at this role play charade. It makes him wonder just how much he's been lied to through the course of their relationship. Maybe he'll have to start asking security questions or something. Or make a more boyfriend-friendly interrogation room...

_Focus, Wade, you've got three fingers in a brunette bombshell and you're thinking about lie detectors._

He looks at Peter's face, which is wide-eyed and flushed pink. " _God._ " he whines, twisting at his bound arms feebly.

"Uh-huh." Wade removes his fingers, threads them through Peter's hair, pressing his head to one side in order to expose more neck. "Open up."

"I - _oh god_ , wait, wait-" Peter's voice climbs to something high and panicky, giving a shove with his upper body that Wade knows he wouldn't be able to hold down if there were Spider-strength packed into it. "What's... _that_? That's-"

"That's my gun." Wade says calmly, and Peter wraps a leg nervously around his waist, stammering nonsense out of what's probably real, genuine surprise. He's shaking, if only a little, and his body has tensed up quick after Wade started to press the cold barrel of his automatic against his slick entrance. "You could say it's my right arm, extension of the body and all. It's more romantic that way, I think."

"You can't," Peter babbles, dazed, "put that _there_ -"

Wade licks at his pulse and waits. Peter's breathing evens out. His leg curl tighter, possessively. "Does my prisoner say yellow?" Wade murmurs, his voice unchanging from it's low, sexual growl.

Peter shakes his head. "Wade, please." he whispers, and Wade press the barrel in slow, both feeling and seeing Peter's body jump, press hard against him. His heartbeat thunders as Wade rocks back to get a better look, nudging Peter's knees back shamelessly. He thrusts the length of it in and Peter makes a wailing sound, tremors rippling through his frame.

" _God_ , oh god..."

"Ready for the 'bang'?" Wade laughs, jerking the gun for emphasis, and Peter flinches visibly. "Come on, talk to me."

"Jesus-- it's _cold_ -"

"What, you scared?" Wade purrs.

Peter's fiery eyes betray his real thoughts, standing separate from his reluctant babbling. "Take it out. I'll take you instead, okay? I'll be good, I promise. Wade, I'll-"

"Deadpool." he corrects lazily. "You'll be good, huh?"

"I'll be good for you." Peter whines, chest heaving.

"You're mine." Wade intones, settling over him, pressing him down. "You're my prisoner. Understand? You're mine forever, forever, I will never, never let you go..." he punctures each phrase with a careful thrust, working slowly deeper. Peter gives a muffled sob against his shoulder, leans up to take his mouth. He really is shaking, it's clearer now, in the hot cavern where the tongues collide, the nervous squirming of his shoulders and fearful stillness of his hips. Peter arches against him, sucks at his lower lip, and Wade slowly eases the gun out of him, tossing it aside roughly, lining himself up instead.

Peter curls his legs tight, a filthy noise spilling from his mouth as Wade buries himself to the hilt. He pushes his hips back desperately, responding with eagerness as Wade grasps handfuls of his hair, holds him down by his sore arms to pound into him, groaning. " _Mine,_ Parker," he growls, and the words are hissed back to him, thick and purposeful and real, "Yes, yes, I'm yours, I promise..."

They continue like this for some time, the friction between their bodies, rutting fast and hard with Wade's weapons nudged aside safely as they work themselves to orgasm. It's not until there's come cooling on their stomachs and Wade is sprawled heavy on top of him that he whispers "Tell me you'll never fucking leave me, okay, I need you to never leave me or the world is going to pay." 

Peter presses his cheek against the open space at Wade's throat and says clearly: " _Red._ "

The suddenness of it, especially so late in their game, surprises him. He turns his head slightly. Peter curl his legs closer. Then a gloved hand reaches for the knife again and he leans forward to allow Wade to slice off the bindings around his arms.

"Was the sex bad?" Peter tries not to smile, because he can clearly hear the worried pout in his tone. Instead, he tosses his arms around Wade's neck and pulls him close, nuzzling comfortably. "The sex was awesome. Listen to me. I'm not going to leave you. I'm kind of in love with you."

Wade snorts and slides his palms up and down his back, absorbing the warmth of him.

"Hello? I said I'm not leaving you. Did you hear me, Wilson?"

"I heard you."

"What did I say, then?"

"You said you're 'not leaving me.'" Wade repeats, mimicking his voice in over exaggeration by pitching his tone higher and masking every word crisp and factual. Peter smacks him lightly upside the head, then smiles coyly and goes back to burrowing.

"Okay."

"Alrighty, then." Now that that's settled, Wade rolls them over easily, pulling Peter half on top of him and looping one arm casually behind his head. "And all this pillow talk has me thinking, have you really done this before?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "Yes, Wade, I've had sex before. Are you serious? You were _there._ "

"Really? I - wait, no, don't distract me! I meant the role play, brat."

"Oh. Not really, no."

"Second time's a charm!"

"I'm kind of sore, you prick." He craned his head back, unwilling to budge in their comfortable embrace, looking pleased with himself in spite of his obvious skepticism. "Also? If I find out that gun was loaded, I will hurt you."

"What? I'm _wounded_ , Petey, I do think _some_ things through! I was good! I never put you in danger!" Peter hid his smirk against Wade's chest, aching, spent, and perfectly content to drift off to the sound of his boyfriend's ceaseless ramblings.


End file.
